A Matthews Christmas
by goforsodapop
Summary: It's December, and the gang's first Christmas without Johnny or Dally. Two-Bit, though, has little on his mind besides his little sister Olive. The quiet, shy kid had been even more withdrawn since Johnny died. Can Two-Bit think of a way to cheer her up in time for Christmas?


Two-Bit had never really liked much about his house. The paint was peeling and the radiator was loud. It got too hot in the summertime. The floor creaked, alerting his poor mom whenever he snuck in at all hours of the night. Like most houses on the East Side, it didn't look like much: not from the inside or out. And maybe that was because, in all actuality, it wasn't much at all.

That night, though, Two-Bit almost smiled as it came into view around a darkened street corner. The air was cold and he walked with his fists jammed into his jeans jacket pockets; one hand closed around a couple of fives he'd swiped from Buck Merril. He thought how he ought to use that money to maybe buy a decent pair of gloves – the Oklahoma nights were getting colder – but he had better plans for it. Besides, he could always just swipe some gloves, if he had to.

While the night was dark, the small and run-down house was bright and warm. Two-Bit's mom had put up their modest string of Christmas lights – still kicking since Two-Bit's toddler years, even if their glow had faded – and a slightly worse-for-wear wreath hung against the chipping paint of the front door. As Two-Bit started up the front walk toward it, he noticed snowflakes beginning to fall. He smiled as he pulled the door open.

"Hey Ollie!" He called, kicking the door shut with his foot and shaking his hands out of his pockets. "Looks like you're gonna be on the losin' end of our bet, kiddo."

Around the kitchen door, a small girl appeared. Her sharp and bright grey eyes were much like her brother's, but in more than a few ways, she was different from him. Her hair was lighter; more strawberry-blonde than rust, and it was almost always pulled back into a neat ponytail. While her brother's mouth was constantly twisted up into a half-smile or quick laugh, hers was pressed into a serious and pensive line.

"Why?" She asked. Two-Bit kicked off his boots and shrugged off his jacket, before gesturing out the front window.

"It's snowin'." He said. "You bet me a whole batch o' gingerbread cookies we wouldn't have snow on Christmas."

"It's not Christmas yet." She argued.

"Maybe not, smarty." He replied. "But two days ain't that long."

"Christmas is in three days."

"Fine, three days, then." Two-Bit rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. His younger sister just crossed her arms, a doubtful look on her face.

"What will I get when you lose?" She asked.

"Shoot, kid, I ain't gonna lose." Two-Bit waved a dismissive hand at her, falling onto the living room couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table. She didn't say anything, just raised her eyebrows at him. Two-Bit looked back at her, cocking one of his own eyebrows. "Awe, come on, Olive, why you gotta be so serious all the time? Get into the Christmas spirit."

Olive didn't say anything, just crossed the room and slumped down onto the couch beside her brother. She grabbed a comic book from the coffee table and opened it.

For a while, Two-Bit just watched her. Olive had never been much like other kids. She was too smart, and too aware; she noticed almost everything. Her eight-year-old brain exhausted itself with endless worries and thoughts that even Two-Bit could never seem to keep up with. But it had never bothered him much before – it was just who Olive was.

The year had been hard, though, and taken its toll on her. Ever since Johnny had died, Two-Bit was sure he hadn't seen a genuine smile on the poor kid's face. Olive had always had a soft spot for Johnny – they were the same kind of people: quiet and sensitive and thoughtful – but he was also the first person she'd known to ever die. Olive was used to hard times and heartbreak. She had been six years old when their mother kicked their deadbeat dad out of the house, and he left, never to return. But that was just it – she was used to people leaving; to disappearing by choice. But she'd never had someone be taken away, with no chance of coming back.

Two-Bit, always the restless one, had gone about his life like always; despite the grief in his chest. But each night he spent out in the lot or at Merrill's instead of home, Olive would turn practically green with worry. She wouldn't sleep and would pace for hours, only satisfied when he crept in close to dawn, proving he wasn't dead with a knife in his gut or a bullet in his skull. He tried to explain to Olive that what happened to Johnny and Dally wouldn't happen to him. But he could never explain it properly, because he never had any good reasons.

After Two-Bit's dad left, he'd never had that _I'm the man of the house now _moment. His mom had never really given him any time for that; she didn't need it. Darla Matthews never gave the impression of really needing anybody's help, and while Two-Bit did think she worked too long and hard at that diner out by the highway, she never complained. She put food on their table, mended their worn clothes, and kept the roof over their heads, even if it did leak when it rained.

With his mom waiting strong and steady, Two-Bit had been free to remain the perennial kid of the house. Olive, on the other hand, had never been a kid to begin with. Two-Bit was the only one who could manage to coax a laugh out of her, which was why he'd gotten so handy at telling jokes in the first place. His day would be made if he could only get her to laugh.

These days, Olive really had Two-Bit worried. She was too quiet; too alone. Maybe she would have dealt with Johnny and Dally's deaths better if she only had some friends or something to distract her. All she had were her comic books, and some 45's stacked neatly in her room.

Two-Bit thought of those five-dollar bills still crumpled in his jacket pocket. There had to be something he could get Olive for Christmas to cheer her up; to help snap her out of it. The year had been lousy, but he'd been damned if he was going to let Christmas be lousy, too.


End file.
